


The Inevitability

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brother Feels, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Cuddles, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Grocery Shopping, Holmes Brothers, Johnlock - Freeform, Kid Mycroft, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock, Kisses, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5788834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>Sherlock and Mycroft have to go grocery shopping with Mummy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mummy Holmes hated taking the boys grocery shopping. It inevitably degenerated into childish bickering. Today, it had started with the vegetables.  She had asked Mycroft to select a bunch of carrots and put it in the trolley, but Sherlock had raced to do it first.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft growled. “Mummy asked me to get them.”

The younger boy stuck his tongue out at him. “You've got to be quick to catch me, Mycroft.” With that the youngest Holmes set off down the aisle at speed, still carrying the carrots.

“I'll go, mummy,” Mycroft sighed. He knew the reason Sherlock had run off. He was 6 and wanted to be alone with his brother. Mummy had no idea how well the two got along, they only ever 'played nicely' in secret.

As Mycroft rounded the corner out of their mother's view, he took off running. It wasn't difficult to deduce where his brother had gone. Sherlock had left a wake of disorder behind him. Random people with trolleys tipped over were looking around in varying levels of surprise and annoyance. Mycroft slowed down so he wouldn't be seen as part of this carnage. Where the chaos ended, Mycroft turned to the left to go down an aisle. There, actually sitting on the bottom shelf was Sherlock. He smiled back from amongst a selection of chocolate biscuits. The older boy's eyebrow climbed up his forehead.

“I am assuming you chose this aisle for a reason.”

“Mummy will never let me have chocolate biscuits. But if you get them…”

Mycroft immediately held out his hands and his brother piled three packages high. “Only three, baby brother?” Mycroft's tone had been joking, but two more packages topped the three that he was already holding.

“Come on then, 'Lock.”

“Can't we stay here? Or why didn't Mummy get us a babysitter? She knows we hate it.”

“She sees it as family bonding.” Mycroft stumbled over the words.

“But we do bond. At night when I climb into your bed.”

“Well, Mummy's hardly there when I read to you, 'Lock. She doesn't even know about it.”

“Good.” Sherlock climbed off the shelf. “Will you read Treasure Island to me tonight?”

Mycroft laughed. “Again?”

Some old couple walking passed smiled at them, muttering, “Sweet boys.”

Sherlock stuck his tongue out at them. He wasn't sweet, he was a pirate. “Argh!”

“Hey!” Mycroft clipped him on the back of the head.

Rather than be offended, however, the old couple just laughed.

Sherlock sprang to his feet and took off again, brushing passed the couple. Later, at the checkout, the elderly gentleman would wonder where his wallet had gone.

“Sherlock!”

“What?” He moaned.

“Hand the wallet into customer services.”

“But that's no fun, Mycie. A real pirate wouldn't do that.”

“Treasure Island, Sherlock.”

The younger boy skulked off to do as he was told, he wouldn't jeopardise his favourite bedtime story. He'd have a go at Mycroft for the blackmail later.

Mycroft made sure to keep him in his line of sight and just as he handed it over the counter he saw his mother in the other direction.

“Sherlock Holmes,” their mother snapped as she approached, “What have you done?!”

Mycroft intervened, “He found a wallet, Mummy. He was just turning it in.”

The middle aged man behind the counter flinched at the sound of the boy's mother, he winked at Sherlock and handed him a lolly. The 6 year old grinned. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Mycroft felt the tiniest stirrings of guilt. He was old enough to recognise that his baby brother was receiving positive reinforcement for pick-pocketing, but he was getting the lolly for handing it in not for stealing it in the first place.

Mrs. Holmes marched over and snatch the collar of Sherlock's jacket. She pulled him back towards the direction she had abandoned her trolley. “But Mummy-”

“No buts, Sherlock,” Mrs. Holmes snapped. “I saw the state of the biscuit aisle, no doubt you were the cause.”

Sherlock pouted.

“Now hold on to the side of the trolley and do not let go. When you get home, you're grounded and you're not having your violin for a week.”

Mycroft caught them up just as his little brother looked like he was going to burst into tears.

“It wasn't him, Mummy,” Mycroft interrupted. He couldn't bear to see his baby brother get upset. “I um… bumped into a lady with a trolley, she had over filled it and the top few items fell off, they knocked some things from the shelf.”

Sherlock, head ducked, shot a covert look in his brother's direction and mouthed him a silent 'thank you'.

“So should you be the grounded one?”

“Um… I guess.”

She smiled at him and dropped her hand to his head. She ruffled his hair and pushed him towards the next aisle. “Let's get a move on.”

Sherlock bit his lip, feeling conflicted. It wasn't fair for his brother to be grounded and he knew he should say something, but he didn't want his violin taken away for even a moment. Still. “Mummy, I...”

Mrs. Holmes glanced in Sherlock's direction. “Yes, Sherlock?”

“He thinks I should be more careful,” Mycroft supplied as he shot his brother a silencing look.

“So do I. Sherlock, what do you fancy for dinner.”

He frowned, not feeling hungry. “Pizza.”

“Go and pick one then.”

The younger boy hurried off.

“I know what you just did for him, Mycroft.”

“I don't know what you mean, Mummy.”

“You're not grounded. But don't tell him that.”

Sherlock reappeared, carrying a huge pizza. He had got one with pineapple, of course, it was as close to sweets on a pizza as he could get. He also knew that Mycroft loved ham so made sure it had both.

“What are you two plotting?”

Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged glances. They hadn't been planning anything, but that could rapidly change.

The older brother waited until their mother was focusing on the shelves before he ruffled Sherlock's curls and held him tight for a moment.

“Get off me, Myc,” Sherlock complained, but it was more for form than anything else. Secretly, he was delighted.

“Are you two arguing already?”

Mycroft let go of his brother and stood back. “Nope. I would never argue with ickle Sherlock, he's too cute.” All of this was said in a high-pitched baby voice.

Sherlock launched himself towards his brother in protest, knocking him to the ground. They tussled about for a bit while Mummy called out their names. The small skirmish devolved into Mycroft mercilessly ticking his baby brother - it was his primary defence against Sherlock.

Sherlock was eventually squealing like a girl with Mycroft knelt over him. He was twisting and turning and struggling, but laughing all the same.

Mummy looked at her watch. She couldn't have cared less about the stares her boys were garnering, but they were on a tight schedule. She clapped her hands loudly and called out, “Boys, enough!”

Sherlock looked around his brother's shoulder at his mother, frowning slightly. He shoved Mycroft back and he fell to the side, still laughing.

Deciding enough was enough, Mrs. Holmes intervened grabbing both her boys by the ears and pulling them to their feet. The boys braced themselves for a scolding, but it didn't come. Instead, Mrs. Holmes gathered them both in a hug. “Promise me you'll always be this way. Don't be afraid to be silly from time to time and always, always, take care of one another.”

Sherlock wriggled free and stepped back. He looked around awkwardly before stropping off towards the cafe.

Mycroft watched him go and sighed. “I promise, Mummy. Always.”


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Holmes hated taking her boys grocery shopping. It inevitably degenerated into childish bickering, but Christmas called and they had escaped the chore for too long. Today, it had started with the vegetables. She had asked Mycroft to select a bunch of carrots and put it in the trolley, but Sherlock had raced to do it first. Just like he had all those years ago.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft grabbed his little brother by the collar and growled at him. “Mummy asked me to get them.”

The younger man stuck his tongue out at him. “You've got to be quick to catch me, Mycroft.” With that the youngest Holmes set off down the aisle at speed, still carrying the carrots.

Mycroft gaped after him. “Um… Mummy, give us a moment.”

“You'll be in the biscuit aisle won't you?”

Mycroft, a.k.a. the British Government, went in pursuit of his baby brother - his mouth had almost quirked into a smile. This time, the carnage left in Sherlock's wake wasn't physical, but it was there just the same.

A grown man running around a superstore, what was with the world?

Mycroft didn't need to use his powers of deduction to find his baby brother, he just needed to know him. And there he was, sat in the exact same spot he had been all those years ago.

“Little brother, if I take 5 packets of biscuits to Mummy she will know they're for you. I'm on a diet, remember?”

“You're not on a diet, Mycie, it's Christmas.”

“Irrelevant.”

Sherlock grinned at his brother. “John assures me that food eaten between the 1st of December and the 31st contains no calories.” He chucked the packages of biscuits to Mycroft in rapid succession.

The British government dropped them all. Sherlock burst out laughing. “We need to get out of here Sherlock. Mummy knows we're here, she may not deduce quite like us, but she knows us almost as well as we know each other. She'll know this carnage is your fault.”

“She didn't all those years ago.”

Mycroft smiled properly at his baby brother. “Oh, ickle Lockie, she so did. You never noticed I wasn't actually grounded because you had your violin.”

The tell-tale sound of clip clop heels of their mother was unmissable. Mycroft grabbed his little brother's sleeve and dragged him around the corner in time to hide from their mother.

“We are going to be in so much trouble.”

Sherlock grinned. “Just like old times.”

Mycroft nodded. “Just like old times,” he agreed.

“Did you know it's weird to wear a three piece suit to a supermarket?”

“You're a bit overdressed yourself, 'Lock.”

Keeping in the spirit of the day, Sherlock stuck his tongue out at his brother. The old couple passing by were distinctly unimpressed, the woman giving a disdainful sniff.

“Just going to point out,” Sherlock interjected. “He's my brother, not my boyfriend.”

She smiled then.

“No, his boyfriend is at home.”

Sherlock growled low in his throat as the woman sniffed again. “As is yours!”

Rather than looking embarrassed, Mycroft puffed up with pride. “They're both good men.”

Sherlock's expression softened. “Indeed. How did we get so lucky, Myc?”

“Luck, Sherlock? There's no such thing.”

“Look at Greg and tell me that.”

“Freaks,” hissed the woman staring at them both.

“I'm sorry,” Mycroft growled, his threat in his voice clear. “Is there a problem here?”

She actually squared up to him, they were about the same age and it looked oddly weird.

Sherlock stepped close, almost shouldering his way between the old woman and his brother. He looked her up and down once, taking in everything he needed to know. “I hardly think a three time adulterer is in a position to make moral judgments.” He glanced at her husband. “Though, since your indiscretions were years ago, your husband might not take issue.”

Mycroft glanced her up and down also. “Four times, baby brother, four times,” he made an effort to stare at her shoes for a moment. “And just last week.” His eyes flickered up and down the husband, “you're an honest enough guy that got married to the wrong woman, sorry pal.” He clearly didn't know about the most recent but the surprise was faint, he'd clearly predicted it wouldn't be a three time thing.

The woman's mouth gaping open was incredibly satisfying for both Holmes'.

Sherlock smirked slightly, did Mycroft just say pal?

“Unbelievable,” the husband growled, storming off.

Mycroft waited until the woman followed, still gawping like a fish.

“You're getting slow, baby brother.”

“And you're getting positively common. Really, Mycroft, Pal?

“Gregory says it.” Mycroft's cheeks were flushed.

Sherlock gave him a shoulder bump. “I'm sure he likes it when you blush.”

“Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes!”

Both brothers tensed and spun around.

“Hello, Mummy,” they said together.

“I saw the biscuit aisle. And I saw that,” she pointed in the direction the couple disappeared in.

Sherlock looked in the direction the couple had disappeared. “She was a homophobic twa-”

Mycroft jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “Language, 'Lock!”

The detective shoved his hands in his pockets, looking somewhat guilty and cleared his throat. “Sorry, Mummy.”

Mycroft burst out laughing and caught his brother in a headlock, he raised his knuckles to the top of his head and gave him the first and last nuggie. Sherlock fought his way free, his hands going up to straighten his curls. They were a hopeless mess.

“I'm sure John's done worse.”

Mrs. Holmes swatted at her eldest son. Mycroft flinched back. It was his turn to apologise. “Sorry, Mummy.”

He turned back to his brother. “But I don't know what you're even bothering with your hair Sherlock, it's always a mess.”

The detective pouted and Mrs. Holmes couldn't help the little laugh that escaped.

“Sherlock, go into that Mind Palace of yours and find the recipe for mince pies.”

“Why?”

“Because we are baking them. Together.”

Both brothers sighed, Sherlock even stamped his foot. “Mummy!”

Mrs. Holmes scowled at him and he subsided, trying to look innocent. No one bought it. He huffed. “Mrs. Hudson never makes me cook.”

“Mrs. Hudson is not your mother!”

“No, she's not. Because she doesn't make me cook. And anyway John will feel lonely.”

“It was John's idea. And Gregory's.”

Sherlock groaned. “Brotherly bonding. Gah!”

Mycroft looked down at his shoes, his face bland, but Sherlock could read the unspoken hurt.

“Myc, I didn't mean it.” Now Sherlock was looking at his own shoes. “You know how I really feel.”

“That's my point,” he murmured, he turned on his heel and disappeared out of the biscuit aisle.

Sherlock took a deep breath, glanced after his brother and then looked to his mother. “Mummy,” he whispered. “What do I do?”

She patted him on the cheek. “Use your words, dear, tell him how you really feel.”

Sherlock looked where Mycroft had gone. “I don't know how.”

“Oh, 'Lock, you managed to tell John that you love him. I think you can tell your brother that you care.”

Sherlock scuffed his shoe into the floor, much like he had as a kid.

“I didn't tell John I loved him. I kissed him and he kissed back and we just went from there. I always mess up, just when everything is going great I ruin it.”

“Sherlock, dear. You know I don't like being critical, but you're an idiot.” Mrs. Holmes grabbed her youngest son and gave him a push down the aisle. “Go. Tell him. Now!”

“You want me to kiss him? Isn't that weird?”

She shook her head slightly at the rather odd prospect. “No, don't kiss him. Talk. You use your mouth to get yourself into enough trouble. Use it to get yourself out.”

With a nod and a sigh, Sherlock skulked off after his brother. He found him outside, smoking one of those hideous menthol cigarettes he was so fond of. Why ruin a decent cigarette? Sherlock stood downwind of his brother anyway, breathing in the second hand smoke.

“I've never told John,” Sherlock commented. “He doesn't know all the things you've done for me.”

Mycroft didn't reply, just took another drag.

“But I know, Myc. I know where I'd be without you.”

“'Course you do.” Mycroft turned to walk away and Sherlock snatched his arm.

“Hear me out. Please.”

The British Government sighed. He put his hand in the inside pocket of Sherlock's suit, the detective let him. He pulled out his own packet of cigarettes. “I thought you had given up,” he snarled.

Sherlock flinched at the coldness in Mycroft's eyes. “It's family stuff, you know what I'm like with it, it helps with the stress, at least when John's not around. I've also never told John I love him. He knows I do, I hope, but I've never said I do. You're the first. I love you, Myc, I really mean that. I couldn't have asked for a better big brother.”

Mycroft froze, his brother's pack of cigarettes held in mid-air. “What?”

“It was painful enough the first time, don't make me repeat it.” Sherlock gave his brother a tentative smile. Mycroft still stood there, unmoving. “Myc, please say something.”

Mycroft turned and leant back against the wall.

Sherlock sighed. He didn't know what else he could do. He ducked his head and turned to head back into the store when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned back and Mycroft grabbed him in a hug.

When Mycroft let him go, the British Government wiped at his eyes. “Stupid, ridiculous sentiment.”

Sherlock actually smiled at that.

“I should have told you too, 'Lock. I worry because I love you.”

Sherlock snatched back his pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

“Brother-mine, you don't worry, you have me followed all across London.”

Mycroft nodded. “I do that, yes, but I do worry. I'm your big brother. It's part of the job description.”

“You follow John as well, is that part of the 'job description'?”

“I also have Gregory followed. I've got your back, as he might say. And as I care for you I care for John. Admit it, you would never forgive me if he got hurt.”

Sherlock was looking anywhere but at his brother. It looked as if he would have to put something else into words that he was unaccustomed to saying. “You're right. Thank you.”

Mycroft smiled and took another drag.

“Are you two smoking?!” Mrs. Holmes yelled from the door.

Mycroft jerked and tried to hide his cigarette behind his back.

“Sorry, Mummy. It's my fault, I gave it to him.”

Mrs. Holmes could smell the menthol from where she stood and smiled. Her youngest would never smoke those things, he was covering for his brother, but she wouldn't call him on it. Instead, she swatted Sherlock's arm. “Shame on you. Now put it out, Myc. We need to get home, there's cooking to do.”

Mycroft sighed. “Do we really have to bake stuff to prove to you that we're brothers?”

“Oh, no, Mycroft. I know you're brothers. You have me and your father in common after all. Now go and get in the car and Sherlock for giving him that cigarette you can carry the shopping.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

Sherlock didn't sulk. John would be at the house by the time they got back. Baking would be bearable if he could get his boyfriend to join in.

Mycroft was thinking much the same thing. As long as he didn't have to put up with this cooking lark with just his mother it would be fairly easy to handle, especially if he dragged Greg into it, it was his idea after all.

Back at the house, Mrs. Holmes grinned broadly at the sight of her sons greeting their boyfriends. It was heart-warming to see them drop their defences and stoic masks and she would be ever grateful to Greg and John for bringing it about. Her smile froze, however when both her boys took a step back and were glaring at their respective partners.

“Which one of you thought it was funny to put baking on the day's agenda?” Sherlock growled.

Both Greg and John shared amused, but guilty glances.

“It's no use, Sherlock,” Mycroft observed, “They're presenting a united front.”

Sherlock's face had grown hard. “There's only one thing for it, then.” He grinned wickedly. “They'll be forced to help or suffer the consequences.”

“Uh, no, no, no,” John stammered backing away. “This is brotherly bonding. I bond enough with you as it is.”

“I have to concur,” Greg agreed.

This time it was the brothers who shared a glance. They nodded once and pounced, rugby tackling the other two onto the lawn.

From there, the brothers' tactics differed widely. Mycroft plied Greg with kisses, first along his jaw, then settling with his mouth over the DI's. Sherlock went with brunt force, rolling John onto his stomach and pinning his arms against his back.

For her part, Mrs. Holmes rolled her eyes and stepped pointedly around them, calling out, “I expect you all in the kitchen within 10 minutes.”

Sherlock sat up on his lover's back, John squirming around beneath him felt odd. “Or what?” Sherlock yelled after her.

“Or I'll get your father and we'll join you down there.”

Sherlock and Mycroft had never moved so fast, practically chasing their mother inside.

They left Greg and John on the ground, covered in mud, seeing as they had been the ones on the bottom.

John mock glared at Greg. “Seeing as this was your idea, why were you the one getting snogged while I just got manhandled?”

The DI stood, offered John a hand and helped him to his feet. He looked at the doctor's mud covered form, then down at himself. “It didn't make much difference when it came to my clothes, though, did it?”

The brothers hadn't been with their mother when she's gone through the checkout so it was a surprise when they found the blow up hammers.

“Mummy, seeing as we've already been in the kitchen, that 10 minute countdown no longer counts.”

They raced upstairs to where they knew their boyfriends would be getting changed and restarted their assault anew.

John had his jeans pulled halfway down when he fell under assault by a childish looking consulting detective wielding a neon blue inflatable hammer. It hit him squarely on the arse, causing him to stumble.

Greg was practically naked, save for his pants when Mycroft found him. The government official bopped him on the head.

“Hey!” The DI turned, shoved Mycroft onto the bed and pinned him down whilst snatching the hammer back. Mycroft wasn't letting go of it easily though.

Greg and Mycroft rolled around on the floor like a couple of kids until the DI's foot caught on a floor lamp and brought it crashing down. It barely missed Mycroft's head. But still they fought.

The noise of the crash made Sherlock peer around the bedroom door, leaving him distracted by the sight. It was rather misfortunate as John used this to his advantage. He snatched the hammer and shoved him into Mycroft's room. 

John had tugged up his jeans and buttoned them, but the DI was still rather exposed. “You three do realise that Mrs. Holmes will probably be up here in about two seconds to investigate?”

“So?”

“Greg, you're naked!”

The DI chuckled. “Oh yeah.” He scrambled around to hide behind the bed.

“Boys!” Came a yell up the stairs.

Mycroft climbed to his feet and rushed passed John, grasping his brother by the sleeve as he went and dragging him from the room. “We're coming!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but the pair froze at the top of the stairs. Their father at the bottom. “What have you done?”

“Er…”

“Nothing,” Sherlock said quickly. “Honest, Dad.”

Mycroft tried to look innocent, but failed miserably. “Greg and I might have broken a lamp. A little bit.”

Mouth quirking into a smile, Sherlock muttered at his brother, “Oh, that's too rich, Mycie. 'A little bit.'“

“You'll replace that lamp, young man,” Mr. Holmes called up the stairs. “Now get down here and help your mother cook!”

“But Dad!”

“No buts. That means you two as well. Jonathan and Gregory. You think I can't see you?”

They both appeared from their rather appalling hiding places.

John mumbled to himself, “John's not short for Jonathan” but he was careful not to be overheard.

Sherlock spun around. “You need to get to know our father, John.”

“Why? I mean I do know him.”

“Not like you know Mummy,” Mycroft interjected. “He's rarely here.”

“And your full name is Jonathan. Just like I know your middle name's Hamish.”

The doctor hit him in the stomach and he doubled over for a moment.

“It was Dad who got the birth certificate,” he puffed out eventually. “And yes, he told everyone he could find.”

For the first time ever, John pouted.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around the doctor and, despite still being winded, kissed him thoroughly.

“What was that for?” John asked, bemused.

“You were pouting, Jonathan. It was cute.”

“Don't.” He held a finger up. “Just don't.”

“Boys, get down here right now!” Mrs. Holmes yelled.

The detective gave John a quick peck on the cheek. “Ok, Hamish.” He turned and ran.

Mycroft watched the doctor chase after him with a fond smile.

“You know, Myc,” Greg said, taking his hand. “I think you're going soft in your old age.”

The look that garnered him was priceless. Greg, having got dressed during the commotion, decided he, too, would be wise to run.

Mycroft found the others in the kitchen Sherlock was skulking in the corner, leant back against the wall, arms folded, trying to ignore John teasing him about 'William' and 'Scott'. Greg was waiting for him and grabbed his hand when he went in. His father was doing a good job of mirroring his brother the other side of the room.

Mrs. Holmes tossed Mycroft an apron. It matched the one John was looping over Sherlock's head.

“Oh, stop the sulking,” the doctor ordered. “At least you have cool initials. They're suitably dramatic.”

Sherlock raised a disdainful eyebrow.

“WSSH. You know, the sound your coat makes when you whirl about.”

“I do not 'whirl about'.”

“You do, little brother.”

Sherlock glared at him.

“Mummy, why do you even have aprons with our initials on?! That's just weird.”

Mrs. Holmes came right back with, “Be thankful I haven't taken up knitting jumpers.”

Having succeeded in bedecking his boyfriend with the apron, John offered, “I could ask Mrs. Hudson to knit them each one.”

It was Sherlock's turn to hold up his finger. “Don't. Just don't.”

Greg sat down at the table and looked at the Holmes brothers. “Weren't you two supposed to be baking mince pies?”

“It was your bloody idea!”

“Now, now, boys,”

“But Mummy-”

“No buts Mycroft, get over here.” She passed him the sugar. “Weigh it out. Sherlock here.” She passed him the flour and then grabbed two bags of raisins throwing one bag at John and one bag at Greg.

John snatched the bag of raisins headed towards his face out of the air. Greg fumbled, almost dropping his.

Mycroft laughed. “Isn't the Detective Inspector supposed to have quick reflexes?”

It happened so fast that even the older brother didn't see it coming. Sherlock had thrown the bag of flour it smacked him on the back of the head.

John couldn't help the laugh he emitted. Mycroft was covered, literally from head to toe in flour as the bag fell to the floor with a dramatic plop.

“You little-”

“Isn't the British Government meant to have quick reflexes, Mycie?”

Mycroft blinked, then brought his hand up to wipe the flour from his face. He walked calmly over to the sink as if to wash his hands, but grabbed the sprayer and unleashed a great spray of water in his brother's direction.

“Mycroft!” His father yelled.

Sherlock, the bugger he was, had seen what was coming, his father had been looking in the other direction and Sherlock had pulled him towards and then stepped behind.

“Should have deduced, Daddy,” Sherlock whispered as he spluttered at the cold water. 

Mycroft lowered his hand with the sprayer looking very much like a little boy in trouble, well a little Sherlock in trouble, Mycroft never was.

“Boys,” Mrs. Holmes said with her hands on her hips, “The flour is now all over Mycroft and the floor, so we'll be going back to the store.”

“Actually, Mrs. H,” John intervened, he turned on his heel and disappeared for a moment. When he came back, he was carrying a plastic bag filled with about 10 separate bags of flour. “I um… well, it was inevitable really.”


End file.
